


A New Breeze

by Storiesfromthebluebox



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:58:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storiesfromthebluebox/pseuds/Storiesfromthebluebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing to see here, just two stupid boys meeting and crushing on each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by techh, aka drinkingheavily on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Smoking is deadly and harms you and those around you but is also kind of hot.

Rick looked up at the grey sky. He really hoped it wouldn’t start snowing again, or it would ruin his utterly fabulous hair he’d combed neatly before he left. He wanted to look good for the performance tonight. 'The performance' being by the London Boys’ choir. They’d been rehearsing for months, and tonight was the night they would perform their repertoire of old and new Christmas songs for an audience for the first time. It hadn’t been his idea to apply for the choir, but Mummy and Daddy wanted him to have a musical hobby. They’d quickly figured out Rick didn’t possess any musical talent whatsoever, and the choir was really the only place that could conceal that, if he stood in the back and sang low. Rick knew he wasn’t the best, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to be like Cliff Richard one day. 

Of course his hope for it not to snow had been wishful thinking. It was nothing but bloody snow these days. He wrapped his brown coat and red-yellow scarf tightly around him as wet snowflakes landed on him. Just what he needed. It already was cold and wet, with just a thin layer of snow covering the streets. It wasn’t freezing enough for the snow to really sustain, but it wasn’t warm enough to go for a nice hike. Unfortunately he had to take the train, because Mummy and Daddy were working late.  
He’d been sitting at the empty train station for about fifteen minutes maybe, until a strange looking boy came strolling from the other side, taking place at the other end of the bench. He was glad for that, because the boy was the type he’d like to stay clear from. He had a red Mohawk, a jeans jacket, torn jeans and a Sex Pistols shirt. Heaven knows what business his sort had in this neighbourhood. He knew one thing though: it wasn’t _his_ business. Rick sighed and pulled out his book, _The Way I See It_ by Cliff Richard, not paying any further attention to the sleazy looking boy.

“Oi”.

Rick didn’t respond.

“Oi!”

Reluctantly, Rick turned his head. Was he talking to him?

“Yes, I’m talking to you, slowpoke. Do you happen to have a few quid for the train?” 

“And if I had, what makes you think I’d give it to _you_?” Rick snapped back.

“I was only asking!” The boy wrapped his arms around each other in an annoyed gesture.

He wanted to get back to reading, but something kept him looking at the boy. He watched as the boy pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit it up. Some smoke ended up in his face as he exhaled. 

Rick started to cough. “God. Do you mind?” 

The boy stared back at him, looking unimpressed. He leaned forward a little, taking a deep pull from his cigarette and breathing it out towards his face.

“Could you put that back this instant, young man!” Rick said, waving his hands frantically. “I don’t think it’s very smart to smoke and I’d like to stay clear from it, thank you.” 

A shrill laugh escaped from the other boy’s throat, and he looked at him with an amused grin. “Young man? And how old are you? Sixteen?”

“Eighteen”, Rick answered, slightly raising his chin.

“Ha!” The boy laughed again. “I just turned nineteen you girly”.

“Well, you might as well start behaving like it then!”

“It's an age to experiment”, the boy said, exhaling away from him this time.

Rick couldn’t help it. He stared, forgetting his principal aversion to smoking for the moment. He watched how the other boy took the cigarette between his fingers, let it dangle in the corner of his mouth, pulled and exhaled all in one swift move, effortless as breathing. The smoke came out of his mouth in a perfect line that broadened toward the end. It was quite entrancing to look at. When the boy noticed him staring, he quickly looked back down at his book. He couldn’t focus on the words anymore though. He just stared at them pretending to read while he was awkwardly aware of the boy’s eyes on him.

“What you reading?” His sharp voice asked.

“Why, do you even have the slightest knowledge or interest in music?”

“I do, quite a bit actually”.

He looked up from his book to meet the boy’s eyes once again. “It’s _The Way I See It_ by Cliff Richard”.

The boy sniggered and tossed the remains of his cigarette away. It quickly extinguished in the snow. “Cliff Richard? That bloke from that extremely girly movie from the sixties? ‘Summer Holiday’?”  


“Listen here now young man”, Rick said angrily. “I can put up with a lot of your nonsense, but don’t you dare insulting the gweatest musician to have ever walked this planet”.

The boy laughed again, but this time it wasn’t his fake shrill laugh from before. It was spontaneous and genuine.

“Why are you laughing?” Rick was starting to get more cross with this stranger by the minute.

He laughed for a few more seconds, then stopped. “I’m sorry, but.. ” he put a new cigarette between his teeth, digging up his lighter out of his jacket pocket. “I suppose you’ve never heard of Johnny Rotten, then”. 

“Who…?” Rick asked absentmindedly, already catching himself staring at the way the other boy lit the cigarette. 

“Are you telling me you’ve never heard of Johnny Rotten?” The expression on his face was a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Er. Nope”, Rick said with a nervous smile, more focussed on the boy’s mouth as he blew out the smoke than at his words.

“The Sex Pistols? Ring any bells, ploppy pants?”

“Well, yes I’ve heard of them, I just never gave them a proper listen”, Rick defended himself. 

“Well, you’re in for a threat”, the punk said, as he dug something else out of his pocket. It was a Walkman.

Just when the other boy shuffled closer to him, a distant rattling announced the arrival of the train. 

“Suppose it’ll have to wait ‘til another time”, the boy said as he put the Walkman back in his pocket.

“Right”, Rick said, not sure if he was disappointed or not. 

The train came to a stop slowly. When he stood up to get in, the punk followed him through the same door. He tried not to look at him as he walked into the empty compartment and sat down. A second later, the other boy took place on the bench opposite of him.

“Come to join me?” Rick asked casually.

“I’ve decided it’s my moral duty to educate the ignorant about good music”, the boy said as he pulled out his Walkman again. “Here”, he said, as he reached him the headphones.  


“All right then”, Rick gave in, taking the headphones hesitantly. He had no idea what to expect, but he was sure it wasn’t something they would sing at the choir.

“This one’s called _God Save The Queen”._ The punk pressed play, and within a few seconds Rick knew he had been right. This was nothing like their choir songs _or_ Cliff Richard.

 _“God save the queen. The fascist regime. They made you a moron…”_

Punk Boy was studying him expectantly. His grin was so large he could almost see his gums. And yet, he wasn’t all that appalling from up close. “Great, isn’t it?” 

“I rather like the lyrics”, Rick said to be polite, barely able to hear his voice over the music. 

“It gets better”.

_“Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future… no future for youuu.”_

There was a screech. For a moment he thought it was part of the song, but it was followed by a jolt and abrupt stopping of the train. Rick took off the headphones.

“Oh God. What now? We haven’t gone for five minutes!” the punk snarled, staring out the window.

The speaker began to crack. “Ladies and gentlemen”, the engineer spoke. “I’m afraid we’ve got a problem. The track switches appear to be frozen. We don’t know when we’ll be able to take off again. We apologize for the inconvenience”.

“Well that’s just great, isn’t it”, Rick said. “I’m never going to make it on time for the performance now!”

“Performance? What performance?” His travelling companion asked curiously.

“I’m in the London Boys’ Choir”, Rick said.

When the boy began to laugh again, Rick had reached his limit. “All right, you twat! That’s enough! Can you please explain to me what’s so terribly funny about being in a choir!”

“All I'm saying is: it’s a bit poofy don't you think?”

“It’s not!”

“Yes it is. It’s poofy and very very girly.”

“Isn’t! How would you know anyway? It’s not like you know what it’s like to be on stage or anything.”

A smug smile formed on the boys’ lips. “I happen to be in a band”.

“Y-you are?” God damn it. Not only was this brat not all that ugly to look at, now he was also in a band. “What’s it called then?”

“Very Metal”, the other boy answered proudly. “We’re actually quite big in the underground scene”.

“If it’s so famous, how come I’ve never heard of it?”

The punk grinned that stupid grin he’d already seen way too often ever since he met him. “Just wait. In a few years time, we’ll be bloody famous”.

Rick stared out of the window. They had only been in the train for what felt like no time at all, but there was only snow covered grass-land to be seen within their reach. 

“God, we really _are_ in the middle of nowhere, aren’t we?” he mumbled. 

Punk Boy sighed and sat back, pulling out his pack of cigarettes.

“Do you really have to smoke that next to me?”

The boy shot him a look. “Yes!” He sat down on his seat in a crouch and lit his third cigarette. “My name’s Vyvyan, by the way”, he said, reaching him a hand. 

“I’m Wick”, Rick said, deciding to take his hand despite his peevishness with him. 

“Would you like a cigarette, Rick?” He held out his pack. It seemed to be a genuine offer, nothing mockery about his attitude or tone of voice. 

The landscape outside of the window was still, cold and uninviting. It was still snowing.

“All right, why not”, he sighed. He took a cigarette out of the pack. It felt smooth in his hand. He had no idea how to hold it, though. 

The boy who was named Vyvyan nudged him. “C’mere, I’ll light it”.

Awkwardly, Rick put the cigarette between his mouth and leaned forward. With their faces closer to each other than he ought to find comfortable with a stranger, Vyvyan lit the cigarette. “Now breathe in”, he said. 

No amount of watching other people smoke could have prepared him for the filthy and aggressive feeling of smoke in his throat. He started coughing almost immediately. Before he knew he’d spit it out and the cigarette landed one meter ahead of him. Of course, Vyvyan started laughing again. This time though, Rick felt he had no right to become angry. He had probably looked ridiculous. But it still annoyed him.

“Hah-hah, yes, very funny. I have never smoked in my life because I actually care about my health. It’s absolutely hysterical”.

“Let’s try again”, Vyvyan said, giving his own cigarette to Rick.

“Watch closely”. Vyvyan held up his cigarette as if he was a stewardess about to give an instruction. He lit it. “You put it between your teeth…” he inhaled, “breathe in a little part and make it sure it goes down to your lungs… and you breathe out”.

Rick tried to mimic Vyvyan’s exact movements. It still felt nasty, to be honest, but he was able to contain the smoke this time. He felt dizzy in his head after the first pull.

“It’s a bit… strong isn’t it?” he said, trying not to let it show.

“You’ll get used to it”. 

They sat there for a minute, smoking, and Rick was trying to look like this wasn’t extremely uneasy to him.

“So you’re a singer then”, Vyvyan broke the silence.

“Yes… well… a choir singer. It’s nothing special, really”.

“I don’t suppose you sing punk songs there, eh?”

Rick just left the cigarette in his hand for a while, the smoke quickly evaporating. “No, Vyvyan. No. I’m not that kind of singer. To be perfectly honest, I’m not much of a singer at all… it’s my parents that wanted me to do this. I’m more interested in… poetwy and weading and that kind of stuff”.

“Yeah? That’s why I started my band. I was sick of my Mum telling me what to do all the time”.

“It’s mostly my dad, really”, Rick confessed. 

“My dad’s dead”, Vyvyan said bluntly. 

“Oh… I’m sorry”.

Vyvyan shook his head. “ ‘s All right. I was nine years old and he was a complete bastard anyway. He smashed my race car once. But… sometimes I do miss having one. I wouldn’t particularly want my old one back, but, I would kind of like having a dad”.

“Well you can have mine”, Rick said. “Because trust me, it’s not always fun to have a fascist pig dad who works at a fascist pig bank”. 

Vyvyan smiled as he took another pull, his eyes resting on him for a bit too long. “At least you’re not _completely_ spoiled yet. You can appreciate good music, which means there’s hope for you”.

Rick wasn’t sure if that was meant as a compliment, but decided to take it as one. 

“Anyway, where do you go to school?” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

It turned out Vyvyan went to school at a nearby school, and that he lived in the slightly poorer neighbourhood close to his.  
He was the lead singer and guitarist of the band Very Metal, which performed every Sunday afternoon in the garage of the drummer. He was on his way there right now. Soon though, they would have their first gig.

Rick told him about his family who was in charge of what he liked to call the Fascist Pig Bank, about how he had been bullied at school for having rich parents… they didn’t even notice the train taking off again.  
Until the conductor came in. In a whiff of panic, Rick realized he hadn’t given Vyvyan money to buy a ticket. They shared a look.

“Tickets, please”, the conductor said.

“I don’t have one”, Vyvyan said loud and clear.

“He’s with me, sir”, Rick said quickly. “I wanted to buy us both a ticket, but we weren’t on time, you see. We only had time to buy one. Here’s the money”. He handed him a few pounds.

The conductor stared at the money. “All right then, you’re lucky mate. Don’t let me catch you next time”, he grumbled as he took the money and gave Vyvyan a ticket. 

“Thanks”, Vyvyan said, when the conductor was out of sight. “I would have paid for it, but I couldn’t because my Mum’s always broke”.

“Don’t mention it”, Rick said, like he was a generous soul who always paid for the train tickets of strangers.

It was only fifteen more minutes until they arrived at London Central. Quietly, they stepped onto the platform and down the escalator. The sudden crowdedness of the station brought him back to reality, piercing the bubble he’d found himself in for the past hour. Right. He had to be at the choir in forty minutes. He would say goodbye to Vyvyan and that would be it. The end of his little escapade. 

“Rick?” Vyvyan said as they reached the hall.

“Hm?”

Vyvyan almost looked insecure there for a moment. “I don’t suppose you want to skip the choir and go for a drink somewhere with me?” 

It had stopped snowing, but the sky was still just as cloudy and grey as before. There was something different, though. He felt different. Just this afternoon, he wouldn’t have dreamed of going into the city with a boy he’d only just met. But who cares? 

He called his mother that he wasn’t going to choir from a phone booth.

"Yes, Mum, it's perfectly safe... his name's Vyvyan... I don't know his last name... no, I just met him... he's really nice and we're just going for a drink. Yes, Mum, I'll be fine. Goodbye, all right? Yes, I will... good bye!"

When he came out, he gave Vyvyan a little nod. The punk smiled. They took the first bus into the city centre, driving through the London streets, past the little stores with early Christmas decorations. Standing so close to Vyvyan in the bus, among all these other people, was making him feel fuzzy.

“Want another?” Vyvyan asked, holding out the pack, when they got off. Without giving an answer, Rick pulled one out. The punk just smiled.

It became a habit of theirs. It was weeks later, after a concert by Very Metal when they’d gone out for a smoke, that Vyvyan had kissed him. If Rick could get used to smoking and drinking, he could get used to the slight tobacco taste of Vyvyan's tongue and lips. He could certainly get used to sharing a bed with a bloke and have the scent of arousal and androstenol added into the mix. He didn't mind wearing Vyvyan's shirts, that also smelled of cigarettes, in the morning, and having his own clothes smelling of it too. He didn't care. Whatever was Vyvyan's, he wanted to be his.

And if he could do all that, he could pretty much handle anything. The smoky bars, the sound of the badly tuned guitars and poor punk covers coming from Vyvyan and his band. He didn’t even mind shocking his parents by introducing his punk boyfriend and the awkward family dinners.

After all, it was an age to experiment.


End file.
